The Witching Hour in Washtenaw by Andre Peltier 

It’s the witching hour at 


and the full moon floats 

through fog. 

While Scarface 

and the Birdman 

sit high upon 

their hog.

Spinning bootlegs 

in the morning of the 

Milky Way.

With visions upon


but the visions have 

nothing left to say.

Nothing left to 


nothing left to sing.

The thoughts are 

empty as the 


the island bars 

will bring.

It’s midnight dark in 


we’re dancing with 

the ghosts,

The spectres of 

lost innocence 

who wander down 

the coast.

Boris and Bela, 

behind the bar, 

flicker blue and 


But the bar is 

closed and 


there’s no one who 

can stay.

Rainclouds with their 

downpour dreams 

veil lonely crescent 


While haunting eyes 

and haunting chains 

are condemned 

to doom.

And here in Ypsilanti 

with terror

born of time

The ghouls will 

circle stardust 

and cover us in 


And the ghosts of 


are the ones we’ve 

left behind

Without opening 

our eyes or paying 

any mind

And the ghost of 

Friedrich Engles 

is blowing on his 


Through ragged 

river valleys 

and yellow fields 


Andre F. Peltier (he/him) is a Lecturer III at Eastern Michigan University where he teaches literature and writing. He lives in Ypsilanti, MI, with his wife and children. His poetry has recently appeared in various publications like CP Quarterly, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Provenance Journal, About Place, Novus Review, Wingless Dreamer, and Fahmidan Journal, and most recently he has had a poem accepted by Lavender and Lime Literary. In his free time, he obsesses over soccer and comic books.

Twitter: @aandrefpeltier


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